


Curiosity

by TheOneShadowFox258



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Corrupted!Sammy, Gen, Ink Monster Bendy (Bendy and the Ink Machine), Semi-Canonical Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:35:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26546881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOneShadowFox258/pseuds/TheOneShadowFox258
Summary: [Probably gonna rewrite this. I can do better]Norman was a curious man by nature.He didn't know why, he just was. If you needed to know something, chances are he knew it. Not that he'd ever snitch on someone, unless they deserved it of course.But his little habit was prone to getting him in trouble.
Relationships: Buddy Lewek/Wally Franks, Sammy Lawrence/Norman Polk, Wally Franks & Buddy Lewek, Wally Franks & Norman Polk
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my AU, "Terrible Sin". Wasn't planning on posting it but, y'know. Had to put it somewhere. 
> 
> Be mindful of the warnings in the tags.
> 
> Note: Joey's name is actually Scarlet, but he goes by Joey because of his middle name "Joseph".
> 
> Feedback appreciated!

Norman was a curious man by nature.

He didn't know why, he just was. If you needed to know something, chances are he knew it. Not that he'd ever snitch on someone, unless they deserved it of course.

But his little habit was prone to getting him in trouble.

Sure, most of the studio was used to it, but that didn't mean they liked it. They didn't like how he always seemed to know what they did, they hated his ability to get around and see but not be seen. They probably hated his glassy eye too.

And they hated his curiosity. 

Sometimes, Norman hated it too.

But there was that one group that never seemed to mind. No matter how many of their quirks and secrets he saw, no matter how many times he'd startled them by appearing too suddenly, no matter how offsetting his blind eye was to others, they never pushed him away. Sure, they poked fun at him for being too tall, but as the tallest of them it was unavoidable. And he didn't mind. It was never a jab at his skin color or his eye, and they always made sure he was comfortable with the jokes they made.

Wanda, Susie, Grant, Jack, Shawn, Jerry, Wally…

And Sammy Lawrence, the love of his life.

His little studio family.

The music director was the kind of person you'd expect to be annoyed by Norman's peculiarities. 

Sammy hated being distracted, yet he never cared when Norman snuck up behind him and startled him. 

Sammy hated loud noises, but he would sit up in Norman's booth even when he was running the noisy projector. 

Sammy was a workaholic, but he still found time to relax with Norman. 

Sammy was short, Norman was tall. Sammy was white, Norman was black. 

Sammy's hair was long and blonde, Norman's was short and dark. 

Sammy was usually high-strung and irritable, Norman was usually calm and laid back. 

They were complete opposites, but it never bothered Sammy, even when it bothered Norman, wondering what Sammy saw in him.

They only had one actual fight the entire time they were together. It was over Sammy’s lack of self care, which was always a rough subject between the two of them. The composer had stormed out of the projector booth, fuming, and Norman couldn’t bring himself to follow, or meet the eyes of the lyricist and janitor in the recording room below.

Sammy didn’t utter a single word to Norman for the rest of the day, but when it was time to pack up and leave for the day, Sammy still held his hand when they left the building.

Norman missed holding Sammy's hand. 

The projectionist watched the band scurry about below his booth, the impromptu conductor Joey had hired on the spot looking as disheveled as yesterday. Wouldn't last a week was Norman's bet. 

The day was drawing to a close, and everyone was eager to pack up and get out. Norman watched them all file out of the recording room, the conductor being the last to leave. Then Norman was alone. 

Or, so he believed. 

There was a knock at the door, and he looked over. Wally was leaning against the doorframe, changed out of his work clothes and in something more casual.

“Ey there, Norman.”

“Hey, Wally.”

They were all that was left of the old group. Everyone else was gone.

Wanda had left to help her family after her father was killed in the war.

Then Susie, after her. Joey said she’d gotten a job somewhere else.

Grant went next. No one knew where he was or if he was even alive.

Same with Jack a few weeks later.

Shawn was the next to vanish.

Jerry had started secluding himself after losing both of the people he loved.

Then Sammy.

Wally and Norman were the only ones left.

“Buddy and I were going somewhere tonight.” Wally said, nodding over his shoulder. Norman assumed that meant Buddy was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. “Haven’t figured out where yet, but you can come with us if ya want.”

Norman shook his head.

“Nah, you two have fun on your own. You don’t want an old man taggin’ along.”

“You’re not old, Norman.”

“Old enough.”

Wally snorted.

“Whatev’a you say.” Wally trailed off, his usually bright face getting a bit more somber. “You ok?”

“Yeah? Why d’ya ask?”

“It’s just… Sammy and the others. I’m not sure how you’ve been holdin’ up.”

After a moment, Norman sighed and looked down into the empty recording booth.

“I’m doin’ alright, kid. No need to worry.” Norman said with a shrug. “You run along now. No need to keep Buddy waitin’.”

Wally started to say something, but he closed his mouth with a sigh out of his nose.

“Ok. I’ll see ya tomorrow, Norman.”

“Bye, Wally.”

Wally headed out of the booth, leaving Norman by himself.

The projectionist sat down at his desk, and waited. 

He waited until he heard no noise outside his booth.

He waited until all was quiet upstairs.

He waited until the sparse lights in the music department shut off.

He waited. 

And waited. 

Then he heard it.

The groaning. 

He heard it every night. It was raspy and wet, and whatever it was sounded like it was in pain.

It sounded unnatural.

And Norman’s curiosity was driving him nuts.

Opening a drawer on his desk, Norman took out a flashlight he had for when the power went out. Clicking it on, the projectionist walked out of his booth. If he was correct, the groaning came from somewhere in the infirmary. Norman carefully peeked his head into the infirmary, making sure Dr. Hackenbush had left for the night. 

Joey Drew had his peculiarities, and Darren Hackenbush had just as many. And the two were hardly ever far apart from what Norman had seen. Wherever Drew was, Hackenbush was likely just around the corner, or vice versa.

After he was certain that the infirmary was indeed empty, he walked in as quiet as ever, listening.

He faintly heard the groan again, and followed the sound.

Tucked away in the back was a door. Testing the handle, Norman found that the door was locked. Cursing under his breath, Norman walked out of the infirmary and started searching around the department.

Fortunately for him, Wally’s bad luck seemed to be in Norman’s favor.

The projectionist fished the scuffed up keyring out of a trashcan in the recording room, then made his way back to the infirmary and to the door, unlocking it and setting the keys on Hackenbush’s desk. Then he made his way into the room.

The room was clearly unfinished; the walls had patches missing out of them, exposing the ink pipes inside, and there were shelves pushed against the walls of the room. Some had various tools on them, some had projectors, reels and film. Some were just empty. But, at the back of the room, there was a cage. The bars were close together and stained black in patches and around the bottom. The acrid smell of ink hung in the air, and Norman swore he could hear a faint heartbeat.

The protectionist kept his flashlight trained to the floor as he crept forward, the heartbeat getting louder.

Was that his heart, or something elses?

God, he really hoped it was his.

He got within arms reach of the bars, finding that the room stretched a bit farther than he first thought, a bit of an alcove he couldn’t quite see inside tucked around a corner. He started towards it, but he heard a wet scrape in front of him, from inside the cage, and the heartbeat started pounding loudly. Norman’s head snapped toward it, raising his flashlight simultaneously.

A wide grin peered out at him from the dark.

Holding in a panicked shout, Norman jumped back, almost tripping over his own feet. His light flailed a bit, but he quickly steadied it back on the cage.

Something eyelessly peered back at him, grin shaking. The creature was covered in thick ink, with two uneven spikes sticking off the top of its head. It was bony, almost skeletal, its neck long and thin with a bowtie resting above it’s collarbones. Both hands were long and clawed with two uneven holes in the backs of each.

It was unnerving, but at the same time, awfully familiar.

Norman tilted his head, leaning forward a bit to get a closer look. The thing mirrored his movements, as if it was also curious about him.

Neither of them moved or made a sound.

“Bendy?”

The creature’s head straightened, its horns(?) seeming to perk up. Then it leaned forward, almost pressing its face to the bars.

“How in the hell…?” Norman muttered. He didn’t even realize that the heartbeat he had been hearing was now silent.

Bendy gave no response. He just stared at Norman.

Norman stepped a bit closer to Bendy, looking him over again.

“The hell did Joey do-?”

The moment Joey’s name left Norman’s mouth, Bendy hissed, backing up. Norman jolted, raising his hand not holding the flashlight in a placating gesture.

“Ok, you clearly don’t like him. I won’t say his name again.” he said evenly, hoping to calm the inky demon down. It seemed to work, since Bendy made a low rumbling noise and walked back over.

Norman looked the demon over again. The ends of his legs didn’t have feet or shoes, just gooey melted stubs of ink. How it managed to stand on those was a mystery to the projectionist.

Then again, this discovery didn’t answer a single one of Norman’s questions, but gave him so many more.

Sure, this ink demon made noise, but it didn’t seem to be hurt or anything. It had no reason to be making the pained groaning he was hearing. It didn’t even sound like it could be the one making those noises, since all it seemed to do was growl, grumble and hiss.

Speaking of-

Bendy hissed suddenly, causing Norman to jump back. Something barely missed his head.

The projectionist hardly managed to get back as someone swung what looked like a plank of wood at his head again. The heartbeat was back, and Bendy reached out of the bars in an attempt to grab the figure, but they were just out of reach.

Unable to keep his flashlight steady and avoid getting his head bashed in, Norman was unable to tell who was attacking him. All he knew was that they were shorter than him, which didn’t really narrow anything down. But as he jumped back again, the light’s beam caught a flash of familiar blue. Norman froze for a second, which ended up earning him a plank to the chest.

Norman fell back and hit the floor, breath knocked out of him. His flashlight skittered away, spinning, before coming to a stop and illuminating the figure.

Norman felt like he’d never catch his breath again.

“S-Sammy…?”

Sammy didn’t react to his own name. His expression was vacant, but at the same time he seemed angry, furious even. His blonde hair was greasy, matted and streaked with ink, sticking to his face and neck. One side of his face was completely drenched in black, the substance dripping out of his mouth and nose, and even leaking out of his eyes. His clothes, the same ones he’d been wearing the day he went missing, were spattered and soaked as well. He had ink covering his arms and it seemed to be traveling up, slowly, rather than dripping down.

And his eyes, once blue, were dark and absent of any light.

He didn’t even seem to recognize Norman.

The music director shuffled forward, seeming to move with difficulty, and Norman scrambled back, grabbing his flashlight. As Sammy took another step towards him, obviously preparing to swing the wood plank at him again, and Norman shut the light off, rolling to the side. He heard the plank hit the floor where he had been, splintering from the impact. Norman turned the light back on and pointed it where he had last seen Sammy. The beam was right in his face, and Sammy jolted back, covering his eyes, dropping the plank in the process. Norman kicked it away while the musician was rubbing his eyes, then shut the light off again. Norman heard Sammy growl in the darkness. It was wet, like he was gargling water. Or ink.

Much like the groaning.

Norman, just as blind as Sammy at the moment, stood up as quietly as he could, starting to back towards the door. 

Sammy abruptly went silent.

Then Norman felt an inky hand wrap tightly around his wrist.

“Found you.”

That hardly sounded like Sammy.

On instinct, Norman jolted back, feeling something swing past his head, then clicked his flashlight on, which illuminated his surroundings enough for him to smack Sammy with the flashlight. Sammy shouted in pain and surprise, letting go of Norman's wrist, and the projectionist shoved him back. Sammy collided with a shelf and its contents clattered on top of him, knocking him to the floor. Norman stared, breathing heavily. 

Sammy pulled himself up using the shelf, shaking. Norman wasn’t sure how, but Sammy seemed to have even more ink dripping off of him.

“It’s so loud…” Sammy hissed, using the shelf to support all his weight. “It won’t just- just be quiet-”

Norman wasn’t prepared for Sammy to lunge at him, and he definitely wasn’t expecting the searing pain in his chest.

Norman gagged, looking down; Sammy had jabbed a screwdriver into his chest.

The blonde looked up at him, right in the eyes, and blinked. And like that, he was someone completely different, fear quickly welling up in his eyes alongside tears.

“N… Norman…?” Sammy’s voice was a whisper as he let go of the screwdriver and backed up, eyes wide. 

They were blue again.

Norman coughed and felt his legs give out from under him. Sammy caught him, laying him on the floor.

“Norman I- I’m so sorry- I didn’t know it was you- I didn’t want to-” Sammy knelt down next to Norman, holding his head up and trying to stop the bleeding as best he could without taking the screwdriver out. Less blood lost that way.

But Norman knew it wouldn’t do anything. 

Norman coughed again, feeling blood dripping from his mouth.

“Sa- Sammy… It’s ok-” Norman coughed again. “N-Not your fault-”

“Not my fault!? Norman I stabbed you!”

There were tears leaking out of his eyes, but it didn’t do anything to wash away the ink on his face. It was almost like it was part of him now.

Norman reached up with a shaky and wiped the tears away.

“Wasn’t you… Couldn’t ‘ve been…”

Sammy didn’t answer back. He just put his hand over Norman’s.

Norman didn’t have the strength to look over when he heard the door open, illuminating the room with a ribbon of light, but Sammy did.

“Fuck.”

Joey.

Sammy set Norman down completely, visibly shaking with anger.

“You… You motherfucker, you‐!" Sammy didn't even finish his sentence before darting at Joey. He tried to wrap his hands around Joey's neck, but the taller man shoved him back roughly in response, causing the musician to stumble back and hit the ground, head smacking on the wood with a painful thud.

Sammy layed there dazed, and Norman couldn't even turn his head to look at him. He felt the blood soaking through his shirt rapidly. He felt cold.

Joey limped over to him as quickly as he could, hand not gripping his cane over his mouth.

"Oh no... no no no, this isn't supposed to—" Joey looked at Sammy, then Bendy, who had retreated to the back of his cage, then back to Norman. The studio's director knelt down beside him, looking at where the screwdriver was still lodged in his chest.

Joey looked panicked, as he had the right to be.

"He... he got you in... oh God-" 

Joey stood up, setting his jaw and limping over to a shelf. He set his cane against it, trading it for an axe. Sammy, still in a dazed state, put two and two together and tried to hastily get up.

"J-Joey— Wait—" 

Joey either didn't hear him, or was tuning him out as he shuffled back over to Norman, gripping the axe tightly until his knuckles were white.

"I'm sorry, Norman. I... I never wanted this." Joey looked over at Sammy; the music director's eyes were wide, pleading and tearful.

"Want or not..." Norman choked out through the blood in his throat. "You're... still goin' it's hell..."

Joey took a deep breath, raising the axe.

"I know."

Norman closed his eyes as the axe swung down and Sammy yelled something he couldn't quite hear. 

His last though was a hope that Sammy had looked away.

Sammy looked up slowly, shaking, as Joey dropped the axe on the ground. He couldn't breath, yet he was panting. His blood was boiling, but he felt cold. His mind was blank, but his thoughts were rumbling.

Before Sammy could process his own body's movement, he had jumped on Joey from behind, almost knocking him over. The taller man managed to catch himself on a patchy wall as Sammy wrapped an arm around his throat, cutting off his airflow with a squeeze. Joey choked, clawing at the music director's inky arm. Sammy didn't even register it, two rage blinded and grief stricken to give a damn.

There was a sudden, sharp prick in the side of his neck and a stinging pain, and he involuntarily let go of Joey, who collapsed to the ground coughing. Sammy lashed out at whoever was behind him, but they jumped back, white coat fluttering in the process. 

Sammy reached up to his own neck and yanked a now empty syringe out of it, vision doubling as he stared at it incredulously. He looked up, swaying as the white coated figure helped Joey up.

Joey and Hackenbush looked at him as he stumbled, bracing himself on a wall, wild eyes still locked on them.

"You... motherfuckers..." was all Sammy managed before he collapsed. 

_____________________________________________

Joey looked up from the paperwork he had intended to do 3 hours ago when he heard the door to his office creak open.

"Darren..." was all he said before looking back down at the papers, tapping his pen on the arm of his wheelchair. 

"Scarlet." Hackenbush said plainly, shutting the door behind him as he walked over and sat down in front of Joey's desk. There was a stretch of silence before Joey set his pen down with a loud click.

"So...?"

"It's done. Thomas didn't question anything luckily."

"And?"

"Nothing." Hackenbush took his glasses off, rubbing his eyes and tilting his head to the side, causing his large loose bun to shift. "He... came out covered in ink. That's about it."

Joey sighed and buried his head in his hands, causing his bruised neck to ache a touch.

"Fantastic..." he muttered, voice muffled.

"What did you expect? You split his head clean in half."

Joey's head shot up, glare trained on Hackenbush. 

"Don't remind me."

Hackenbush just raised an eyebrow, looking impassive.

"If you didn't want to think about it, you shouldn't have done it."

"I wasn't going to let him bleed out and suffer."

"Samuel stabbed him in the heart. I'm surprised he was still alive when you got there."

Joey tried to think of a rebuttal, but nothing came to mind, so he leaned back in his wheelchair, looking towards the ceiling and away from the doctor in front of him.

It was a bit funny, Sammy stabbing Norman directly in the heart. Joey might've found it as such if it didn't hurt to think about, or if it wasn't a bleak reality.

“So what do we do now? The Polks are bound to ask questions. They’re a closely knit pack.” Hackenbush said, putting his glasses back on.

“I know, I’ve met them.” Joey sighed, sitting up straight. “We’ll do what we always do. Make something up. Wing it.”

“At least we had some kind of plan with the others.”

“Because we meant to kill them.”

Hackenbush looked at the papers on Joey’s desk.

“If you feel so bad about it, why do you keep doing it?”

Joey picked up his pen again, slowly spinning it around his fingers.

“Because I want this to work.” He said after considering it for a moment. 

“And?” Hackenbush prompted, knowing that there was more to be said.

“And because it’s too late to turn back.”

Joey set his pen down, training his mismatched eyes on the doctor.

“What about you? Why are you helping me? Don’t doctors have an oath to ‘do no harm’?” Joey asked, ending on a rather sarcastic note. Hackenbush, unfazed by the question, leaned forward and put his arms on Joey’s desk.

“Why do humans do anything? Curiosity. You built the Ink Machine to see if you could really and truly bring your cartoons to life. I'm helping because I'm curious to see if you succeed.”

“Just curious, huh.” Joey leaned back. “Norman was curious too. Look where that got him.”

Hackenbush leaned back as well.

“That’s the thing about curiosity. Too much will get you in trouble.” Hackenbush then stood up, and headed to the door. “It kills the cat as they say.”

Joey just made a noise in response.

“You should quit while you're ahead, Scarlet. Before you do something else irreversible.”

Then he swept out the door.

Joey sighed, looking at his hands, at the ink staining his fingertips. The ink that never came off and seemed to get darker and creep up his fingers, and from the patches on his arms.

“I can’t.” he said to the empty room. 

He couldn’t.

He had to press on.

For the countless workers he and Hackenbush had put through the machine. For Wally, who didn’t expect to find that the last friend he had from before had vanished too. For the families now missing their fathers, mother, brothers and sisters.

For Sammy, who stuck with the studio even though Joey put him through hell.

For Norman, who just couldn’t help his curious nature.

Joey rubbed at the stains on his fingers. They didn’t smudge.

“There’s got to be a way to fix this…” He muttered. 

“I just have to believe.”

//End

**Author's Note:**

> I am  
> So  
> So sorry :)


End file.
